


Aa Le Chal

by manicExpressive



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen, Space Pirates, Trolls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicExpressive/pseuds/manicExpressive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cycle of revenge doesn't go as planned, and a young troll finds herself in a position that a member of her caste would never fall into. But as she works her way through the nobles, she quickly finds out that the politics that keep their society running is fraught with more corruption than just the Empress herself, and that all of Alternia may be threatened by a new alien race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of plans for this! I hope it doesn't come off as too corny. We shall see!

The raid didn’t go as planned.

Three of the largest ships in the fleet, three of the most well-armed, were lost in the fray. The flag ship still stood her ground, albeit on wounded legs; the mast lay broken in half across the deck, sails hanging down into the water. Blood of different hues stained the deck, more browns and yellows than anything else, but even a speck of green and blue along the railing’s towards the Captain’s quarters. The mood was somber as the crew began to pick the pieces back up.

A hardened gaze watched their opponent disappear into the horizon. Least of all they had managed to damage the Marquise, but she had come out on top as usual; it wasn’t good news to bring back to port. With a huff, he dropped the telescope back down to wear it hung from his neck, leaning forward and gripping the wooden railing. This was a chase that had gone on for over twelve sweeps, and it seemed doomed to continue until one of them grew too old to fight any longer.

“Captain! Captain Acaudra!”

His quiet contemplation of failure and a hollow threat was broken, a gray hand frantically waving down on the main deck. The older troll sneered, not in the mood for dealing with idiots so soon; he needed to lick the wounds to his pride, first. But upon further inspection, he noticed the wiggling bundle standing between two of his sailors, wrapped up tightly in burlap and rope.

“What is that?” The Captain immediately stomped down the steps towards the pair, the sack refusing to give up its fight. “I had believed my orders were clear enough, but apparently ‘ _Leave none alive’_ is too difficult for your think pans to comprehend.”

One of the pair, with small but jagged horns, straightened immediately at the reprimand. The other was simply too excited.

“Yes, sir, but—“

“Now toss that filth overboard and back to the sea where it belongs!”

The troll hesitated, Acaudra’s gaze narrowing.

“—just take a look at her!”

Without waiting for further instigation or asking permission, the sack was quickly unraveled and torn apart. The Captain stood back. A young troll, probably no more than six or seven sweeps at most, stood huffing between his men, hissing and spitting like a wild animal as they tried to hold her in place. Her eyes were covered completely by cloth wrapped around her head, leaving her blind. Her hair was long and wild, tangled in her mismatched horns, horns that looked all too much like—

Realization hit.

“That’s…”

“Yes!” The troll grinned wildly between his accomplice and his captain. They had done well, hadn’t they?

Acaudra took that step forward again, reaching out to grab the girl’s chin. She bared her fangs in an obvious threat, her lips bleeding blue from all her gnashing and struggling. Her chest heaved with each breath, but the captain merely studied her face for a long moment, before pushing her back roughly.

“I suppose I will allow this exception.” A sigh of relief from the quieter of the two. “But I expect my orders to be followed to the _letter_ from this moment on. One more slip up and you both will be able to reunite with your own pathetic excuses for ancestors down at the bottom of the ocean. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Two nods were all that he needed.

“Good.” Acaudra clasped his hands behind his back and began his ascent back up the stairs.

“Sir?”

He paused, looking over his shoulder. “Chain her and throw her in the brig.” A small grin quirked the edge of his lips. “I’m sure someone will be back soon to recapture their missing protégé.”


	2. Chapter 1

No one came.

A week of time was expected, at least, for both teams to make the appropriate repairs. When not even a veiled threat of retribution for kidnapping her only known descendant and obvious Gamblignant in training. Acaudra believed that, perhaps, she wished to do things officially and sent the Marquise a formal declaration of blackmail and challenged her fleet once again.

Another week turned into a perigee.

One perigee turned into two.

Nothing.

By the sixth bilunar perigee of the dark season, Acaudra accepted that he had lost the Marquise Mindfang, riding on the single hope she would come back for her own blood. But a pirate was a pirate, and clearly her investment was not with her line, but with her own reputation and conquests. He scolded himself for weeks, but self-pity would not remedy the problem that still sat on his hands, or rather, in his dungeon.

It was then he came to realize he had an opportunity to make an investment of his own, if not for glory, then for simple profit.

\-------------------------------------

She hated teatime more than anything. As far as troll recreational activities went, it was easily one of the more peaceful, but that in alone was a bore. There had been a time when she was shooting featherbeasts from the bow of a ship; she liked to watch them fall into the sea and see how the fauna down there would be devouring them. Teatime, in comparison, was simply “mind-numbing as all hell”.

Vriska Serket leaned against the stone countertop, chin resting in her hand and looking as bored as she felt. The few other trolls around her were busying themselves with silly little pastries, arranging them just so, and soaking leaves in hot water. She could cause trouble for them if she wished, but these lowbloods weren’t the subject of her aggravation.

She sighed dramatically, giving a huff so that her bangs floated for a moment. With practiced timing, one of the older troll women looked up from her careful cutting of confectionaries.

“Oh come now, this is hardly one of the more difficult tasks assigned to you.” The woman’s orange-brown irises betrayed her blood; she wore standard attire for any servant of the household.

Vriska jutted her bottom lip forward. “If you mean an absolutely pointless task where you have to pretend to give a crap about snooty old loons and their stupid snooty problems when you say ‘difficult’, then yes, this is a piece of cake.”

The older troll rolled her eyes and gave a low chuckle. “Maybe if your cooking skills improve, they will ‘promote’ you to kitchen duty.”

“In my dreeeeeeeeams!” Vriska practically rolled across the counter, dragging her arms along in a dramatic fashion. “That would get who knows what under my nails and our wonderful benefactor would be soooooooo disappoi—hey, I can feed myself just fine!”

“An iron protein sac isn’t the same as the ability to fill it with something appetizing.”

“Now we’re just splitting hairs, Pakama.”

The older troll was about to retort when a bell sounded just outside of the kitchen. “Two minutes!”

Vriska pouted, playing with a tendril of her hair as she watched the dance play out before her. Trays were stacked carefully, overloaded with more food than would actually be consumed during the hours of petty conversation and “asspats”, as Vriska would put it. Before the parade exited the room, she snatched a small custard-filled pastry.

Pakama snatched it back half a second before she bit into it.

“A missed opportunity! You’ll have to wait until next time, Miss Serket.”

An elongated decorative kettle was set in her hands. Another troll quickly poured in the contents of the original kettle and leaves. Matching cups marched out the door just ahead of her.

“So, who is the dope he has over this time?” Vriska frowned at her reflection in the freshly polished silver.

“The Offender Kharotim Ramkhaal,” said the other troll, rushing off with the old kettle just a moment afterwards. Vriska sighed again.

“I’m already offended.”

“As they will be if you’re not on time.” Pakama shook her head, turning Vriska around by her shoulders and motioning her after the caravan of sweets. She scrunched the skin on her nose in disgust of the hours that waited before her, but followed the train as if she were a lowblood herself.

Blood color had never been particularly important to her on the high seas, and the Gamblignants were recruited base on their skill and use more than appearances. Her ancestor and provider of the time even had the audacity to run off with a rustblood for some time until he was killed in an act of rebellion. Vriska had always assumed that was the union from which she had been passed to the Mother Grub, but never bothered to ask; Mindfang wouldn’t have answered her, anyway.

But at the large hive that sat a few miles from the coast, Vriska was painfully aware of where she stood—or rather, _should_ have stood amongst her “peers”. They shouldn’t have been peers at all. Yet that was exactly the point.

The Reception Block was spacious, open to the entrance and main halls of the hive. Large columns framed the open archway, the same smooth dark stone as the flooring. Ironwork chandeliers hung from high ceilings, bringing a warm light to the room. Three trolls sat in the center room: the weathered Captain and a woman of an equally jaded appearance faced opposite of another man. High cheekbones and a white scar running along his lip, his hair was immaculate and kept back, the fins on his face flicking slightly as the large array of edibles was placed in front of them. A stern sea dweller: this was Offender Ramkhaal.

Vriska took a breath before stepping inside, wary of the pools of fabric hanging from her waist.

Conversation died down as each of the highbloods were handed a cup matching the pot she carried. Acaudra looked almost bored when Vriska made her way towards them, taking her place behind his seat. She knew what she was supposed to do, and that was exactly the reason she didn’t do it. Instead, she simply stared down the sea dweller; she had never been fond of them.

Acaudra cleared his throat. Though he looked barely a sweep older than their first meeting, his voice betrayed his age.

“If you would kindly do your job, I would be much obliged.” He spoke with a smile, though it was obvious he did not find her moment of protest amusing. Vriska fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him, but stepped out from behind the high-backed chair. Approaching the guest first, she held out the kettle in offering. “My apologies; her manners appear to be lacking today.”

Vriska rolled her eyes as she filled up Ramkhaal’s cup and made no sign to hide it. He watched her carefully, even as she stepped away to repeat the process to the other two.

“We must be operating under the assumption that pirates have manners.” Ramkhaal’s face was deadpan, but Acaudra did not bother to hold back his laugh.

“Too true!”

Vriska turned her back on the group, sneering to herself as she placed the pot over a small open flame that was left for her. The previous conversation picked up, but she blocked it out as annoying drivel—background noise.

It was time to play statue; stand and look pretty, that was all she had to do. It had been nearly three sweeps since her ancestor and idol had left her behind. Not that Vriska had expected anything less of Mindfang, the unspoken rule had always been stragglers were left and forgotten. She had always assumed she held more weight than the rest of the crew, but it was a harsh reality she had come to accept. Vriska Serket was a pirate no longer, stranded on land under the “care” of the troll who had originally thought she was his ticket to debunking the infamous Gamblignant.

But she was wild, uncontrollable, they said. She had resisted every possible attempt to reform or otherwise. Any troll even slightly lower than her on the hemospectrum was immediately vulnerable to her tricks, so it was Acaudra himself that eventually broke her in. Vriska was stubborn and fighty, but even she had a limit when it came to starvation and blindness. She trusted him no less than she did the day she arrived, but she was convinced she chose the lesser of two evils; at least this way, she could keep an eye on him and his snooty evil plans.

But the more she was allowed to venture out around the hive, the less she was actually able to do. It was almost as if the young troll they had originally thrown in a sack like harvested fish was suddenly made of glass. It was not in her nature to be cordial or submissive, so she made a horrible servant.

So, instead she was a showpiece. At least that was how she felt.

“The only blue blood in servitude.”

How had her thoughts suddenly become voiced? Oh, no, that wasn’t her speaking. Vriska snapped out of her internal reflection on all the things wrong with her life, raising her brows, and then frowning. It was Ramkhaal who spoke.

“Not only metaphorically, but literally. What an unfortunate plight that has become of you.” The lack of sincerity in his voice brought a sneer to her lips. Unlike the rest of the hive’s staff, Vriska did not care much for keeping the Captain’s good reputation.

“Well, I would say that unfortunate plight is sitting about three feet in front of you.” She looked pleased as Acaudra’s associate choked on her tea.

“How dare you speak like th—“

The Captain calmed her with a hand, waving it off. His sneer matched Vriska’s, and for a moment, the room was silent. She disliked this man in a wonderfully platonic way. He gave her the bread and butter she ate and the recuperacoon she slept in, but it was an empty existence that she would either escape from or make short, if that was what it came to.

“Is she preserved?” the sea dweller asked, setting down his cup on an end table.

“Oh yes, perfectly.” Acaudra did the same. “You know I would protect my investment.”

“And you spared no expense.” Ramkhaal’s eyes narrowed and he did not smile. “Though there are some things that are simply irreparable, it seems. We can’t help if her sponge was damaged after she left the Brooding Caverns.”

She straightened her posture and dug her nails into the flesh of her own arm, the strawberry cream filled pastries looking like a prime throwing target; they were blessedly out of knives and forks in that room. Finger food.

“I think most of it has rotted away having to stand here and listen to you idiots all night. If I’d known I would need to take lessons in douchebaggary to keep up with you, I would have brought some of my best note-taking pens!”

Acaudra simply turned his back on her. “Personality flaws aside, she does have an odd ability reminiscent of lower bloods.”

“Do tell.”

“Manipulation of actions, though it only seems to affect those who are, indeed, lower on the spectrum.”

Ramkhaal leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together as he studied Vriska for a quiet moment. She glared back. Then she remembered, the pot! The hot tea sitting on an open flame…

“Fascinating. While I don’t see how that would be a problem; there just isn’t the same buyers market for rustbloods.”

Her fingers closed around the handle when she paused. _Buyers market?_

“What do you think my profit margin would be? Show costs and the sweeps of grooming considered, of course.” He motioned to her garb, yards of expensive fabric draped across her shoulders and waist. “An appraisal, if you will.”

The sea dweller was contemplative for a moment, his hard expression never dropping for a second. Vriska’s pupils were dilated in surprise and anger as the reality of the situation hit her like an avalanche.

“Does she have any talents?”

They were putting a price on her head.

“It’s a miracle when she’s quiet for this long.”

They were going to _sell_ her off like some—like some…

“Not everyone is after a collector’s item. That will dramatically diminish your pool of potential buyers.”

…like a filthy lowblood! Like an _animal_.

“Surely the fact that _everything_ is intact should be enough?”

 _Everything?_

“Hmm. Well, that isn’t something that is too common in this age.” She was fuming. They simply ignored her. “I would say that you are looking at a return of at least 500,000, if I were to be picky. Perhaps even 700 if we find the appropriate loc—“

The sizzle of hot tea splashing all over his face cut Ramkhaal short. Acaudra and his assistant both shouted in surprise as the sea dweller hissed and doubled over, clutching his face. The servants waiting by the archway were stunned into silence, but only for a moment. Acaudra began barking orders immediately.

Vriska cackled and screeched, kicking over a table-full of trays and treats. “Oh no, what’s wrong?! I thought fish liked water!”

She was restrained by the guards, some of whom she had been rolling die with just the night before. Her dress dragged beneath her feet as she was pulled back from the room and the loud threats sent in her direction. Yes, she would be punished, but perhaps she was going to get lucky.

She would rather be culled than treated like a commodity. It would be nice if they would just take care of that for her.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 was going to be a lot longer, but I decided to break it up. So today's update is a small one!

The floor was hard and cold; just how she remembered it. To lay down on it felt like a luxury at that point. Her back was strained from her forced kneeling position, hard iron rods slapped shut across her hands kept her in place. Had given up tugging against them hours ago, or maybe it was days? Time was completely lost on her. What little light that did filter through the entrance was blocked from her view, a solid metal casing wrapped around her head like a coiled snake, covering her eyes and making it difficult to swallow. She had long since lost feeling in her legs.

Vriska laughed to herself, but there was nothing funny about it. The whole scenario was painfully reminiscent of her original “grooming” when she refused to cater to the Captain’s wishes. Part of her wondered if he would do her the favor and just kill her this time.

Her thoughts fell back to a closer time, however; the conversation she had been privy to prior to her current lockdown.

_Not everyone is after a collector’s item._

Some prize she made, unable to feel the lower half of her body, blue tears stained on her cheeks, despite her best efforts to not cry from the hunger in her gut. She had seen lowbloods she has grown rather fond of disappear from the hive to never return. Vriska had always assumed they had been culled, but somehow that seemed the kinder alternative.

Yet, it all made sense. Acaudra had a nasty habit of going through servants like each was a new fashion statement for the perigee. The slave trade was a lucrative market, as with all the perceived incompetence’s in the lower bloods of the trace, highblood trolls were always in need of someone else to do their mundane chores. Vriska made an awful servant, and she had always done her best to be as horrible as possible. It wasn’t going to be her future, she could feel it!

At least, that was what she had always told herself. She would have a dastardly scheme to break free, humiliate her captors, and start her own ship and crew. She would be famous, even more so than her forbearer, and the Empress herself would quake in her throne at the very sound of her name.

The door to the dungeon opened with a grate of stone against stone. Vriska did not bother looking up.

The hollow sound of boots clicking against the steps echoed almost painfully loud in comparison to how quiet things had been for that undetermined passage of her time there. She counted each one because she could. It was forty-six by the time he reached the bottom, and ten more to place himself in front of her. Though she could not see, she practically felt his shadow falling over her.

The silence stretched between them, waiting for the other to break it. Mind games were all she had sometimes, so Vriska vowed to be the best at them. She kept quiet.

“Have you had enough?”

Despite the pain it caused her, Vriska shrugged.

“Your indifference is charming as always.” He sighed and she could hear the shift in the fabric of his cloak. “Surely you’re hungry.”

She turned her head up towards his and smiled. “That’s sweet of you to be concerned, but the amount of hoofbeast shit you feed to me on a daily basis is enough to keep me full. Thanks, though.”

Vriska expected slap across the face or a whack of a cane across her back, but nothing came. What sort of game was he trying to play?

The door opened again and she heard a mismatched group of footsteps, too many for her to accurately track. Then she heard the familiar jingle of keys. Her expression was incredulous even with the metal wrapped around her face.

When her bonds were broken, Vriska all but collapsed onto the floor; not the strong impression she wanted to convey, but her body would simply not hold her upright. Her legs did not even feel like they were attached to the rest of her. But they must have been moved, as she felt herself lifted into the air. She glared in what she hoped was Acaudra’s direction.

“Let me guess, I’m supposed to beg for forgiveness and kiss your feet?” She spat.

He chuckled. “We’re too far gone for that, Vriska. Besides, you will be a thorn in my side no longer in a few days.”

His footsteps began and others followed as she felt herself bobbing along awkwardly in a sea of hands. The very tips of her toes started to tingle painfully and she hissed, the feeling in her legs slowly returning.


End file.
